


The Law of Surprise

by Nellblazer



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fights, Monsters, Nilfgaard, POV First Person, POV Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Politics, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Quests, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, The Law of Surprise (The Witcher), Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23773945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nellblazer/pseuds/Nellblazer
Summary: Geralt flippantly invokes the law of surprise for helping your father get rid of a Griffin. When you, the long lost daughter return home at that moment, Geralt knows he’s stuck with you forever because destiny is a real fucker.*Please do not replicate my work anywhere else without my express permission*
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Reader, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 49
Kudos: 366





	1. A Flippant Decision

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Violence
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> This fic will switch between Geralt and the Reader's POV throughout the story.
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> \- NB xx

“I don't see what you're protesting about,” Jaskier rolls his eyes. “It's my most popular song.”

“That's not how it went,” Geralt growls.

“It's artistic licence. Nobody wants to hear about when you lost your footing and tripped over a rock. They want drama! They want action!”

“ _I_ want some peace,” Geralt steers Roach to the side of the path to let a merchant with his cart pass by.

He was fully ready for the stares at his unusual appearance. Sometimes he wished the mutation wasn't so obvious. “Besides, you don't sing about when you shit yourself seeing the Nekker. How about something like 'I hitched along for riches but all I got were spoiled britches?'”

“Very funny,” Jaskier frowns. “They're quite surprising when they jump out at you. Anyone would've done the same in my position.”

“I'm sure,” Geralt looks to the heavens before spotting the town board ahead.

He slips off of Roach's back, petting the loyal horse before going to study the notices there. As a Witcher in today's society, he didn't enjoy the luxury of constant work like his predecessors. Witchers were treated with suspicion and fear rather than reverence and he often had to go looking for his own contracts if he wanted a full belly at night.

People posting items for sale....advertisements for healers....some upstart villager trying to throw his weight around..... _there_.

A griffin was terrorising a farm nearby and they needed it killed before the crops were ruined.

“I've got something,” he tells Jaskier who's leaning against the horse, tuning his lute.

“Another monster to kill?”

“A flying one.”

“Well that soundsssss horrible,” Jaskier grimaces. “I'll be sure to keep a safe distance while you get to work.”

“Not when I need you as bait.”

“I'm sorry, I think I misheard you?”

“Come on, Roach,” Geralt puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles and Roach canters forward.

Jaskier wobbles before falling to the ground, splaying in the dusty road.

“You did that on purpose!” the bard yells.

“You wanted to come along,” Geralt shrugs, mounting the horse again. “Keep up.”

He rode into the heart of the town, smirking to himself as Jaskier shouted his indignation all the way to the square.

**

He had asked every single resident who could stand to be in his presence where the griffin was, what it was doing, did it have a pattern but he might as well have been talking to a brick wall.

He decided instead to trek out to the farm, leaving Roach with Jaskier near the inn as he tramped through some marshland, his boots squelching with every step, threatening to get stuck. The swords on his back felt heavier and heavier as he strode along, occasionally getting flecks of mud flicking up towards his face.

Not the first time that week he found himself wishing he could have a normal profession rather than getting caked in dirt, blood and gore but....somebody had to do it.

By the time he got to the farmhouse, he saw some of the damage for himself.

Several cow carcasses were strewn over the land, they'd nearly been picked clean. He could also see grooves in the ground from where the griffin had swooped down to get its meals. From the look of how wide the divots were, this was a fucking huge specimen of a beast.

He rapped on the door and waited before it was flung open by a greying man with sallowed skin. Geralt could tell by looking at him that this was a man who'd lost a lot already.

“Oh!” the man startles. “Sir Witcher, is it? I've heard stories about men with yellow eyes.”

“Yes I'm a Witcher,” Geralt replies politely. “I hear you have a griffin problem.”

“Oh I do, sir,” the man nods furiously. “Great big ruddy beast is killing my livestock, it's tearing my crops from the earth and....and....”

“It took someone close to you, didn't it?”

“My daughter, sir,” the man starts weeping. “She were training to fight, fiery young thing. Thought she could get rid of it for me and....and....oh sir, I had to watch that beast fly off with her. I found naught but blood and clothes after searching these past two days. She is lost to me, sir Witcher.”

“I can eliminate the problem but I will need payment.”

It's not that Geralt was unfeeling, he was just practical. If he gave free services to everyone with teary eyes and sniffling noses, he'd never eat. You had to harden the spirit to tales of tragedy.

“I'm afraid I have no gold, no silver. Nothing of value. What little I had I spent on mercenaries who also met a violent end. I didn't even realise my message was still on the board.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt closes his eyes and sighs.

Griffins were hard creatures to kill and very dangerous. Getting nothing for the privilege wasn't very enticing.

“If you must, you may invoke the Law of Surprise,” the farmer wrings his hands nervously. “Whatever is mine to give, you may have.”

“That's not how the law goes,” Geralt shakes his head. “I can ask for the first thing to greet you that I see or that which you do not know you hold.”

“Anything, sir Witcher. Please, just help me.”

“I'm not after your dog, your friend or your neighbour's cat. I will invoke the right to that which you do not know you hold. Are we in agreement?”

“Yes,” the farmer holds out his hand to shake. “And should you find anything of my dear daughter....she wore a necklace of silver with a crescent moon.”

“I understand. Good day,” Geralt nods before making his way back to town.

He highly doubted he'd get anything from the farmer but a promise was better than nothing. Maybe the old man would find a bag of coins under his bed that had gone missing weeks prior.

If only he could be so lucky.

**

“Tell me again why I'm doing this?” Jaskier stands on the flat plain overlooking the town.

“You wanted a story,” Geralt call back from behind a boulder. “Now sing. I need you to draw its attention.”

“Singing to a griffin,” Jaskier huffs, looking around nervously. “Worst audience I've ever played for.”

He coughs, clearing his throat before twiddling with the lute strings. Geralt was half expecting the bard to piss himself in anticipation of fear.

“Get on with it!” Geralt growls. “I don't have all day.”

“You don't rush talent!” Jaskier hisses back. “Fine. Ahem!”

And he begins singing, louder than the Witcher would've given him credit for, given his trembling legs. He was an idiot, but he was a brave idiot.

“ _-But the maiden was maiden no more, when she sprouted fur and teeth and claw, a bride of beasts was what she became, to range and hunt, to maul and maim-_ ”

A screech pierced the air as Geralt hunkered further down, careful not to let the silver of his sword glitter in the sunlight and give his position away. Jaskier's voice waivered but held true.

The griffin blotted out the sun as it swooped and circled before it hovered above the bard, waiting for the right moment. It would strike imminently.

“MOVE!” Geralt yells and Jaskier dives out of the way, protecting his lute that was clutched to his chest.

The Witcher sprang forward, seeing the griffin scrape across the earth as it missed its target and he hacked at the wing. The first step to killing a flying creature? Keep it on the ground.

Geralt is knocked back by talons that threaten to peel open his leather armour but he dodges just in time. The wing is not fully severed and is still useable so he casts the Yrden spell, trapping it as it thrashed wildly, tearing a line down his cheek that spilled blood down his front.

He was getting careless. He should've seen that coming.

“I hope your plan is better than to just present yourself as a target!” Jaskier yells from behind a bush.

“Shut up!” Geralt shouts back but he notices the beast looks in the bard's direction. “Actually keep shouting!”

“What?!”

“Keep shouting!”

“Over here you great...ugly...feathery thing!”

It'd do.

The head was turned away from him and in one heavy swing, he'd buried his sword halfway through its neck. It shrieked so horribly that he nearly took his hands off his weapon to cover his ears but with some considerable effort, he yanked the sword clear and went for another blow.

Decapitation was not easy work and it took several hacks before the thing's head finally separated. By this time Geralt was covered in its blood as well as his own.

“Well I think that went very well, all things considered,” Jaskier joins him, patting him on the shoulder but he withdraws at seeing Geralt's expression. “Yes...well....shall we get back to the farm?”

“Did you find a necklace anywhere?”

“No?”

“Hmm, fine. Let's go.”

He hefted the griffin's head onto his shoulder and headed back.

**

“Thank you, thank you!” the farmer shook his hand, offering a bowl for Geralt to wash himself

with. “I have some food for you. Sit down, both of you.”

Jaskier sat happily, accepting the bread and broth as Geralt scraped off the blood and gore, looking at his reflection in the polished steel of the mirror. Acceptable, he guessed but he'd need a long bath to get the staining out of his white hair. The cut wasn't too deep either. It'd heal quickly enough.

The door opens and he hears a gasp that makes his head snap up, looking for the danger.

“Daughter!”

That fateful word makes him spin around to see a woman, covered in as much blood and dirt as he was, her armour torn open, injuries across her shoulder and arm and a short sword that was dripping black liquid onto the hay strewn floor. He imagined that once she was cleaned up that she'd be beautiful. Her eyes were what drew him in. They were sharp, intelligent and full of fire but with a softness that he thought would only be evident once she let a person get close to her.

Then the realisation hit him and it must have hit Jaskier at the same time because the bard sat up ram rod straight and his mouth fell open.

“Geralt!” the bard gasps.

“What's going on? Who are you?” the woman asks as her father comes over to embrace her.

“You're alive!” the farmer kisses her on the only part of her face not covered in mire.

“It dropped me when I swung at it. I landed in a drowner nest. Only just fought my way back. Who are they?”

“I thought you were dead! I thought...” her father sobs before the realisation hits him too. “That which I do not know I hold.”

“Father?” she asks warily.

“My good lady, your father offered the Law of Surprise to my good Witcher friend here to get rid of the griffin that plagued this farm,” Jaskier rises as Geralt avoids looking at her. “He offered that which he didn't know he had. He thought you were dead and now he realises he has his daughter again.”

“So....so....I belong to the Witcher?” she stammers.

“I didn't know, forgive me,” the farmer sobs harder. “My only child. I didn't know!”  
Geralt can feel her looking at him and he doesn't want to see the disgust and the horror there but Jaskier stamps on his boot and he eventually glances up to see something like curiosity and shrewdness there instead.

“When he leaves, you will have to leave with him. You're bound to him and there is nothing that can break that bond. I'm sorry, dear daughter. I'm sorry,” her father strokes her matted hair back.

“I see,” she takes a deep breath.

“The magic of the Law of Surprise is absolute,” Jaskier adds.”If you ever become separated, you will find each other again.”

“Does the Witcher have anything to say?” she looks at Geralt directly.

There's a long pause where Geralt feels the awkwardness pressing upon him, the enormity of the flippant decision he made, that was responsible for another human being and he could never leave them. Ever.

“Fuck.”


	2. Bathtubs and Barnyards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You come to terms with belonging to Geralt but you're not happy about it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Jaskier being Jaskier
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> Happy reading
> 
> \- NB xx

“Fuck.”

The Witcher had summed up your thoughts exactly.

You'd barely survived the drop into the lake from fighting with the griffin, your body feeling like it would shatter as you hit the surface and all of the wind was knocked from you as you struggled to the sweet air above. Then you'd hacked and slashed at the drowners who thought you were an easy meal, nearly being overwhelmed by sheer numbers.

You were aching, hurting, cold and hungry and when you'd finally gotten home, you'd been given body and soul to a wandering Witcher and his....bard?

“I'm not happy about it either,” you barge him out of the way, grabbing the wash bowl to start cleaning yourself up. “This was not my destiny.”

“My girl, I cannot apologise enough,” your father's worried reflection is in the mirror. “I truly thought you were dead.”

“I know, father, know,” you sigh before turning to the Witcher.

He was a lot less scarred than you'd expect him to be. Witchers were always described to you as ugly, marred by their work, strangely mutated but this one was....pleasant. Although his hair was still stained by blood, it was the colour of a bright harvest moon, silvers and whites dappled with darker grey at the roots. His eyes were particularly fascinating, a torrid yellow that should be quite fearsome but they held a weariness behind them.

This Witcher was old, you'd reached the conclusion. Too many memories behind his gaze. He still looked like a young man though.

“Why is she staring?” the Witcher asks his bard.

“Why does anyone stare, Geralt?” the bard rolls his eyes. “You don't exactly blend in.”

“ _She_ is also right here and you could've asked me yourself,” you cut in and for a moment you swear you see the Witcher's lip twitch into an amused smile.

“Alright, why are you staring then?” he folds his arms.

A more chivalrous man would've taken the cue to apologise, to change his stance and attitude but not Geralt. You almost blanched at his boldness and his rudeness.

“I'm bound to you forever more. I think I get to stare,” you fold your arms in kind. “I know nothing about you.”

“Likewise.”

“I'm not leaving tonight.”

“Didn't ask you to.”

“Good.”

Silence fell.

“Well.....this is nice,” the bard says uncomfortably. “I'm Jaskier by the way, you may have heard of my singing prowess?”

“Can't say I have,” you turn to him and you can see his ego visibly deflate.

The Witcher lets out something of a snort but when you look back, his face is expressionless. You didn't know quite what to make of him.

“I'm going to get properly cleaned up,” you undo the outer straps of your ruined armour, letting it fall to your feet. At this point you just wanted to get out of the tense atmosphere. “Eat, Witcher or your friend will leave you starving.”

For Jaskier had already started on his second helping of broth.

You leave for the bathhouse at the back of the farm, stoking the coals under the trough of water to get some heat through. As you waited and then poured it into the tub, you wobbled unsteadily on your feet, catching the lip of the wood to stop yourself from falling.

The enormity of your father's flippant decision brought you to bended knee and you tried not to let hysteria overcome you. You felt no more important than a slave right now. That's what you were in a sense. You belonged to someone else and had no more autonomy in your decisions. If you tried to run, you'd always end up back by Geralt's side.

You manage to pull yourself up, strip off your bloodied and torn clothes and step into the bath, hissing as the warm water sought out the nicks and cuts on your skin. You sank down, letting it coat your hair, pulling the blood and dirt away as you stared at the ceiling.

As you washed, your reflection became more recognisable in the polished steel near the bath and your hair was turning its normal colour again.

Time must have escaped you because your fingers were starting to wrinkle and the night chill in the air was chasing away the warmth of the sun, making you hide in the safety of the water more.

It wasn't until a twig snapped nearby that your head shot up and you saw Geralt frozen in half step.

**

He hadn't meant to startle you.

It was an unfortunate habit of his to be very stealthy and silent in his movements. It was born out of years of tracking monsters but it had led to this very embarrassing situation where he looked like a deviant because he thought you would be finished by now.

He tried not to look. He did try.

It was hard not to sweep his eyes over what he could see, the wet hair smoothed back so he could finally catch a glimpse of your face and the start of the swell of your breasts just hidden by the water line.

His hunch was right. You _were_ beautiful and that just made him feel worse about the whole ordeal. He was probably taking you away from some rich lord who'd ride by and be transfixed by you, scoop you away from labour and poverty for a comfortable life. Now you were bound to him and only had a life of fighting and misery, an early death to look forward to.

“Why are you here, Witcher?” your voice is stern. “Come to spy on me? See what your contract has bought?”

“I'd be more subtle if I were trying to look at you,” he growls in annoyance. “I wanted to talk. Didn't realise you'd take this long.”

“There was a lot of blood.”

“Evidently.”

Silence again.

You had a sharp tongue and he didn't know how to respond to it. Whereas Jaskier just blathered on and didn't care much for Geralt's response, you almost seemed to dare him to speak. Everything was a challenge.

“Speak, Geralt. It's getting cold and I wish to get out soon,” you cross your arms over yourself.

“Look,” he massages his temple that was thumping hard, giving him a terrible headache. “I didn't ask to gain anybody, own anybody or such. I usually work alone because my life is dangerous. Jaskier just doesn't stop following me. I certainly don't want anyone else to do the same.”

“We cannot undo what has been spoken,” you fix him with a harsh stare. “But I can wield a sword if that's what you're afraid of. You don't need to protect me.”

“Drowner nest, yes?” Geralt leans against the doorframe, remembering what you had said in the house. “Impressive. That's not what I'm afraid of though. I don't like the idea of being responsible for someone. I don't want a wife or child figure.”

“And I'm not after a husband, Witcher” you shoot back. “I can take care of myself and I don't expect to be mollycoddled. I will fight the monsters that you do and I'll follow you wherever you wander but I will not be spoken to like property or some simpering wife. Am I clear?”

He couldn't help but laugh. Maybe he was destined to always find stubborn women...or maybe he just liked them and sought them out. Who knew at this point?

“Am I being funny?” your tone becomes colder and he realises he hasn't answered.

“Forgive me,” Geralt smiles. “I didn't mean to offend you. I'm just glad you're not like Jaskier. I don't think I could've coped with two of him. I shall leave you to your bathing.”

He turns around and he can hear you stand up in the water. It takes a lot for him to not turn back but he manages it, stopping for only a half second before walking back to the house.

**

Geralt is awoken rudely the next morning by Jaskier bellowing in his face.

“You do sleep like the dead,” the bard tuts. “Do you know she's already on a horse and waiting?”

“What?” Geralt blinks away the last vestiges of sleep.

“Oh yes. Did all her goodbyes and packed her weapons and armours. I have to say she is quite the sight without drowner blood all over her. That's the kind of woman bards like me write songs about.”

“So write a song about how she'll never look at you twice,” the Witcher grumbles uncharitably.

He hated waking up before he was ready to and he hated it more when Jaskier was openly letching over his new charge. He did genuinely think you wouldn't like a man like Jaskier but perhaps it was wishful thinking too.

“I haven't tried anything yet, how would you know?” Jaskier winks.

“She'll wrap your lute around your head by sundown. I guarantee it.”

“Or perhaps I shall make my greatest song yet about the fair farm maiden who fought her way out of a drowner's nest and into my heart.”

Geralt makes a noise somewhere between a grunt and a 'ugh' before striding off to the front of the house, “Your heart is very easily swayed. Weren't you just telling me about the maid in the tavern?”

“I like pretty things, Geralt,” Jaskier shrugs, fiddling with the lute strap.

“Shame they don't like _you_.”

He speeds up before he can hear any more lovesick declarations.

Jaskier was right, you were waiting by a dapple grey horse and were brushing Roach, cleaning his mane of built up mud. That just about stops the Witcher in his tracks.

Roach was very temperamental and barely let anyone come near him yet, here he was being groomed quite happily. Almost like a puppy.

“Do you have the affinity?” he asks, startling you a little.

With the sunlight rippling through your, now dry, hair something stirs in Geralt that he hasn't felt since Yennefer left. That undeniable spark of first attraction. He couldn't let it build into a fire though. It was wrong to do that. He didn't need romance. He needed money in his pocket, a good meal and a warm bed at night.

“For animals? No, I just like them,” you continue brushing. “Nothing magical about me.”

“I beg to differ,” Jaskier appears at Geralt's shoulder. “Your radiance rivals the sun this morning.”

“And your platitudes turn my stomach this morning,” you roll your eyes and get on your own horse. “Where are we going?”

“Oxenfurt,” Geralt gets up on Roach. “We won't last long on the coin I have left and the bigger contracts are in the towns. I have people who owe me favours, can give me bed and board.”

“Oxenfurt! Wonderful!” Jaskier exclaims. “Although, could we avoid The Rosebud? I may have left a lasting impression the last time I was there.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Geralt sighs. “Let's go then.”

“Kind lady, may I ride with you?” Jaskier asks you. “It is a couple of days travel to Oxenfurt and my shoes might not last.”

“Vigo is particular,” you pat your steed. “He doesn't like strangers.”

“Let me get acquainted with you on the journey then and we will not be strangers!”

“Hey now, she's being polite,” Geralt cuts in. “She doesn't want you on the damn horse.”

“Now now, Geralt, I'm sure that's not what she means.”

“I wouldn't be so sure then,” you wink before starting to trot down the path.

“Oh she wants to be chased I see,” Jaskier smooths his hair back, ridiculously preening himself. “Very well, I do love a challenge. Onwards to our next adventure!”

The bard looked ridiculous jogging after you and the Witcher noted when he caught up, you looked skywards as if pleading to some god for help. It amused him, in a way, to see Jaskier fail so spectacularly at getting your interest.

Geralt took a last look at the farm house before spurring Roach onwards, rejoining you both and your little party heads north east, into the rising sun.


	3. Down in the Bog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The road to Oxenfurt is not as smooth as you would've liked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence, peril, minor angst
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> \- NB xx

The road to Oxenfurt was pleasant enough so far.

The shining sun was bathing you in a warm glow as you steered Vigo on and you found yourself more than once closing your eyes and just inhaling the scent of the countryside. After the fettid air of the swamp, it was a noticeable contrast.

You caught the Witcher looking at you a few times whenever your eyes reopened but he looked ahead just as quickly or turned back to Jaskier who had barely shut up since your farm.

The bard was not particularly subtle in his attempts to get on your horse but you certainly weren't going to put yourself in a position where he had to grab your waist.

“I might have to stop soon, you know,” he huffed and puffed as he kept up with the horses. “I'm getting very tired here.”

“We can't afford to stop,” you look at him with one eyebrow raised. “If we don't make it to Mulbrydale by nightfall we'll end camping near swamps and I'd rather not fight again so soon.”

“She's right,” Geralt added. “So keep up.”

“Come on!” Jaskier threw his hands up. “I've been walking for hours and my feet might actually drop off.”

“Oh good, so I can leave you here,” Geralt smirks.

“Geralt. I swear, I will curse you if you don't let me ride with you.”

“I'm already cursed, what do I care?”

“This is preposterous!”

But both you and the Witcher looked to the bog on the right hand side of the road, hearing the faintest whinny of a horse in distress and the even fainter sound of screams.

“What, what is it?” Jaskier demands.

“Shut up. Trouble's brewing,” Geralt hisses before looking at you. “You heard that too?”

“Just about,” you murmur.

“I think you might have to fight sooner than you wanted,” Geralt starts steering the horse away from the direction of the road towards the marshland.

“Do you always help everyone in need?” you ask, tugging on Vigo's reins to stop.

“They might have something valuable to give for being saved,” Geralt turns back to look at you with something almost like shame and bitterness. “Witchers are no better than vultures now. We have to circle around those in need to make our living. It's a far cry from how things used to be.”

“And there are far few of you left to maintain the old schools from what I hear. Is this why you all have to strike out alone?”

“There's always been wandering Witchers but our schools were where kings used to beg us for help all the way down to the lowliest beggar. We used to be revered, not reviled. Come on, can't waste time reminiscing.”

You followed him, finally allowing Jaskier to climb up behind you because the mud would've pulled him under otherwise. Much to your relief, he only used the lightest touch around your waist. You thought he was mainly happy to be off his feet for a little while.

On and on you tailed Geralt as he honed in on the noises and it was fascinating to watch him work as he leant off his horse to pick something up from the ground, sniffed it once and then hared off in what seemed a random direction.

“What is it?” you call, spurring Vigo on.

“Kikimora,” he shouts back. “Big one.”

“I don't know how he does it either,” Jaskier confesses from behind you.

It became apparent that the Witcher knew exactly where he was going when you saw the great body of the beast rising high above the bog, the bony taloned legs moving furiously at it scuttled at the poor man who'd come across its path. The great head turned with its one large eye, vertical pupil contracting to a mere slit as the circular maw quivered with bloody teeth in anticipation of your arrival.

“Stay back and let me handle this alone,” Geralt yells to you.

“I can help!” you call back.

“I don't need you dying the second you're under my care.”

“I CAN HELP!” you shout more forcefully.

“Fuck!” he curses to himself before his horse comes level with yours. “Your sword, what's it made of?”

“Steel.”

“No good, doesn't work. Won't kill it outright. Silver works. Got anything that makes fire?”

“I have a fire bomb potion in my bag.”

“Use that then run. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Keep it distracted for me but if it gets too dangerous, get out. Swear it!”

“Alright, I swear it!”

“I'm going to hold on a bit tighter if you don't mind,” Jaskier clutches on. “I'm not very good in these situations truth be told.”

“If you fall off I'll come back for you.”

“I knew you liked me!”

“Don't push my good will.”

“Yes yes, sorry.”

“In the saddlebag, get me the green bottle.”

You were thankful years of lute playing had made Jaskier's fingers nimble because the ride wasn't steady at all as Vigo rose and fell with the terrain. Eventually you had glass thrust into your waiting hand and you steered towards the kikimora.

“What are you doing?!” Jaskier's hands are crushing your stomach as he holds on with an iron grip.

“Getting to the best spot.”

“Oh no,” he buries his head down as you ride on.

Geralt is shouting at you on the other side, obviously alarmed at your plan but that's what you wanted. The creature was concentrating on his voice and you were able to get underneath towards the soft underbelly.

In one swift stroke, you slashed, creating an opening and stuffed the bottle inside, slamming it so hard the glass broke. Immediately flames started spewing forth, cooking it from the inside and you hared out of there with Jaskier making some high pitched noises.

“All yours!” you call to Geralt who moves in.

You just catch the moment where his eyes stain black, spidering lines bleeding down his cheeks before he used fire magic and then hacked at the legs.

Instead of watching, you circled around and around the kikimora, yelling and whistling loudly so it was disorientated after Geralt had punctured its eye with the silver sword. After flailing in agony and rage, the taloned leg flicked and Vigo was knocked over, you and Jaskier sprawling into the mud.

You were nearly crushed one when leg came down inches away from you and you dragged Jaskier out of the way, kicking at Vigo's hind quarters so he'd get up and move.

It was over in a blink.

Fire bloomed around Geralt's silver sword as he stood astride the kikimora, stabbing down and the creature collapsed to the ground in a tangle of blood, sinew and teeth.

Geralt turned around sharply, eyes still completely black and you balked for a second until they reverted to their usual yellow colour.

“Everyone alright?”

“No need to worry, I'm alive,” Jaskier responds merrily, laughing as he gets to his feet. “Well this will make an _excellent_ song. Something like ' _As the maiden rode, in its flanks did she sew, a potion of fire, and so it did slow. Now the Witcher came, with silver and with flame, to rob it of sight and to injure and maim._ ' Oh yes, this will definitely earn us some free meals.”

Geralt ignores the bard shaking out his jerkin and comes straight to you.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just bruising. I'm fine.”

“That was incredibly stupid you know.”

“It worked.”

“Yes it did but-”

“-but nothing, Witcher. I distracted it, you killed it. If I had a silver sword, I'd of helped you kill it more directly.”

“You're very stubborn.”

“Get used to it.”

“Hmm,” he scowls before moving to the body of the man whose screams you'd heard earlier. “He's dead. Got crushed.”

When Geralt starts searching through his pockets, you make a noise of discomfort at his unsympathetic handling.

“He's dead. He won't need anything,” he gives you a stern look. “We need it more. I have two mouths to keep fed.”

“I told you before not to treat me as a child. I can fend for myself.”

“You're my responsibility,” he unearths a coin purse which seems fairly full as he throws it up in the air to test it.

“ _Now_ who's stubborn?” you bend down, feeling ashamed of yourself for doing so but you slip off the dead man's rings and jewellery as something to pawn later. “At least we have a spare horse for Jaskier now I suppose.”

“Good. The whining was getting too much. And no, we can't bury this man. We don't have time. If that was a kikimora queen, the warriors might be nearby. We need to keep moving.”

“Fine.”

**

Geralt could tell you weren't happy about the plundering of the corpse but you had to toughen up a little.

The money that was in the purse would last for a good two weeks and added to his own stock, he could take care of everyone for a month. If Jaskier finished his song by the time they got to Mulbrydale, maybe they could even have more.

It was the most financially secure he'd been in a long time.

He did regret the patronising way he came across though. You seemed affronted by it and he discovered it made him upset that he'd upset you.

Most of all, he regretted not telling you he thought you were very brave. Nobody he knew apart from his fellow witchers would've dared to get underneath a kikimora like that.

Maybe he should tell you when you got to the tavern.

As Mulbrydale grew closer, the tiny thatched cottages came into view with the largest building being their destination. They hitched up the horses before going inside, Geralt seeking the barkeep as Jaskier drew a crowd, his song ready to be performed.

“I've only got two rooms, I'm afraid Sir Witcher.”

“That'll do,” Geralt takes the keys before shoving one into your hand. “Take the room for yourself. You don't need to put up with Jaskier's snoring.”

“Geralt, you don't need-”

“-it's the right thing to do.”

“I mean if Jaskier's snoring is that bad he can take a room to himself and I'll sleep on the floor in yours. No need for anyone to get bad rest.”

“You're not sleeping on the floor.”

“Slept on worse things,” you shrug, ordering two pitchers of ale and shoving one towards him. “Just a suggestion. You don't need to keep treating me like I'm some noble lady. I'm not. I'm a farmer's daughter.”

“It's still the right thing.”

“Oh fuck your chivalry,” you frown, drinking heartily. “I didn't ask for it.”

“I didn't ask for you but now I've got you,” he retorted without thinking.

He was too used to being hostile and he knew the moment the words had left his lips he'd fucked things up. You looked genuinely offended.

“If that's what you think of me....I'll take my leave for the evening. I've got no appetite it seems.”

“Wait,” he grabs your wrist. “I apologise. That was rude of me. I don't often...socialise.”

“It shows,” you say coldly.

“Come here,” he pulls you to a table in the corner, away from everyone else and Jaskier who was just performing. “Look, I'm still not comfortable with this but I'm more comfortable than I was after seeing you fight today. The underbelly? That was very clever, as was stuffing the potion in there. You're very brave but I'm hoping that doesn't translate to recklessness. I don't want to get fond of you for you to die soon after.”

“Heavens forbid you warm up to me,” you roll your eyes.

The truth was he already _had_ warmed up to you. The suggestion you put forward of sleeping in the same room terrified him for that very reason.

“I'm trying to compliment you. Take it.”

“Yes, you're right. That was very big of you. Thank you. I did tell you not to mollycoddle me though. This is why. I can defend myself. Believe me when I say, if you ever see me in dresses and skirts bowing and scraping to some lord, that is the time when strigas will win beauty contests.”

Geralt snorts loudly. Stubborn, brave _and_ funny. It's a wonder you didn't have a husband yet but most men would probably be too intimidated by your fierceness.

Not Geralt. He found it charming.

“I'll bear that in mind. Now, as for the room situation...as much as I'd love to kick Jaskier out, he'd most likely complain or get the wrong idea. It's less of a headache if we go by the original plan.”

“If you're sure. I'd rather he get the wrong idea about us and stop trying to court me though,” you smile shrewdly.

“He's persistent, I'll give him that. You don't want people to think you're with a Witcher though, in that sense.”

“Why not?”

“We're not exactly celebrated members of the community.”

“Neither am I.”

“And people call us hideous.”

You study him for a time, eyes roving over his face, “I don't see why they would. White hair is not a drastically unnatural shade and the yellow eyes are just unusual, not frightening. You look like any other man to me.”

His stomach lurched a little. Did you really think that? So many women only lay with him because he was 'exotic' except for the two sorceresses who were equally shunned themselves.

“I do?”

“Yes and by far you are the most comely person in this tavern apart from myself so stop doubting your worth, Witcher and stop worrying about my reputation. I don't care what people say about me.”

“Alright, Jaskier sleeps by himself but you're taking the bed. Deal?”

“Deal.”

It was almost masochistic how much he was pushing his comfort levels right now but he was also testing your boundaries to see when the inevitable push back would occur, when the time would come that you admitted you hated the day he ever came to your village.

He found himself engaging in pleasant conversation with you as you both drank the ale. This was the most he talked in a long time, even with the chatty bard who was making his way over with a fuller purse than before.

“Well that went down a storm,” Jaskier grins. “We should have enough now to stay in Oxenfurt for a while.”

“Here's your key to your room,” Geralt throws it over and the bard catches it deftly. “I won't be up much longer. Tired.”

“No doubt. Monster slaying is tiring work. What about you, dear lady? Care to join me for another drink?”

“Tired also. Should we go upstairs Geralt?”

He hadn't expected you to actually be so bold about this. He half anticipated you would lie and say you had your own room but now Jaskier's jaw dropped as he looked from Geralt to you in astonishment.

“Yeah, let's go,” Geralt stands up, enjoying every minute of his friend's shock.

The room was small but warm and you washed up in the communal bathroom first before coming back and airing your clothes out on the window ledge, clad in some small clothes you'd brought with you. Geralt then realised he would have to be fairly undressed himself to clean up his own armour tonight.

“I won't look,” you get into the bed, throwing him your spare blanket so he'd be comfier on the floor. “I'll blow the candle out if you knock before you come in.”

“I'm not embarrassed,” he growls, even though he was.

After cleaning himself up and moving back into the room, he threw his breastplate over the chair and trousers too, knowing you had an eyeful of his bare scarred back. After eventually turning around, you could see the more heavily scarred front too, especially the one from the dwarven riot in Rivia that had taken a chunk out of his chest. The flickering flame threw it into even deeper uglier relief than normal.

“Lot less than I was expecting. You must be good at your profession Geralt,” is all you say before rolling over in the bed away from him.

“I have to be, or I end up dead,” he quips back before blowing the candle out and pitching the room into darkness.

On pillows and blankets, he finds it's not a bad place to sleep. More than anything though, it's the rhythmical breathing of you that helps him to become drowsy.

It had been so long since he'd slept near another human that wasn't Jaskier, so long since he'd slept near a woman.

He knew you were fast asleep or else he would never have said it out loud, “Why do I always like women I shouldn't?”


	4. City of Intrigue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You make the final journey to Oxenfurt and hope you can get some coin when you're there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Angst
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> Happy reading!  
> -NB xx

Geralt wakes up before you do.

He's always been an early riser, the sun just finds ways to annoy him until he has to forgo his dreams. He blinks, his eyes stinging at the brightness before his eyes fall on you.

You're still asleep, the sheets twisted around you and you're splayed in an odd position. Evidently you had a rough night.

He wished he could've given you a bit longer to doze but if you didn't get to Oxenfurt soon, you'd all end up camping right in prime bandit territory. The last thing he wanted was to get to that godforsaken city having had no sleep whilst he kept watch.

Oxenfurt was loud, it was bawdy and as much as he didn't want to take you there, it was the only way to get enough gold to last a long while out on the road.

“Get up,” he says gruffly, his tiredness scratching his throat.

You don't stir. You don't move at all.

Geralt just sighs before getting to his feet and walking over, leaning down and shaking your shoulder.

“You need to get up.”

He's lucky he had good reflexes. Within seconds you'd jerked awake and had a knife to his throat which he barely blocked with his hand, holding your wrist tightly.

“Don't startle me like that, Witcher,” you pant and relax a little.

“I just shook you. It's not like I kicked you or something,” he narrows his eyes.

“I'm a woman who's lived on the road before. I can't afford _not_ to react like that when sleeping makes me vulnerable to anyone who should come across me.”

He hadn't thought about it like that.

“Did you travel alone?”

“A fair amount,” you blink the last vestiges of slumber away. “You learn to survive where you can.”

“Has anyone ever hurt you on the road?”

“No. I'm too cautious for that. I slept up trees, in bushes....sure the ants got on me but the discomfort was better than waking up with someone in my underclothes or not waking up at all.”

“Hmm,” Geralt is quite impressed at your ingenuity. He often hid himself whilst sleeping in the wild alone. “So I have to protect your honour still? Keep you away from the wrong people or are you adept at that too?”

“Witcher, I am not some blushing maiden. I have more life experience than you seem to think I am capable of,” you reply acidly before wrenching your wrist free.

He'd noticed whenever you were angry at him, you'd stop using his name.

Cute.

“You'll have to tell me sometime. I enjoy stories...I enjoy stories when they're not sung at me, I mean,” he lets his arms drop back down, standing upright.

You get up, inches away from him and there's a moment of tension there, both with a challenge in your eyes. You place a hand over his scarred chest, your fingers cold against the heat of him and for the first time in a long while, he's flummoxed what to do. He didn't expect you to be so forward. Normally he'd just let the situation fall where it may, maybe take charge but you were his responsibility and somehow it felt wrong, like he'd gained a woman as a reward and that didn't sit very well with him.

But instead of this going in the direction he thought it might do, you just laid your palm flat before shoving him out of the way.

“I need to get dressed. Move,” you walked past him with your head held high and your hips swaying with confidence as you gathered up your clothes and went to the washroom.

Geralt laughed. He couldn't help it. You'd played him well.

He just waited for you to get back before redressing himself. When he was buckling his armour back on, you were looking at him oddly.

“What's got you smiling, Geralt?”

“You know exactly what has me smiling. Don't be coy.”

You just shrug your shoulders, coming up and patting his breastplate, “Told you I'm not some innocent farm girl.”

“Consider me educated.”

“Come along, I doubt Jaskier will be awake yet.”

“You've already got his habits pegged,” Geralt snorts.

He slots his sword holster into place and follows you to Jaskier's room. It takes a while before the bard unlocks the door, his hair everywhere and his eyes bleary.

“How much did you drink?” Geralt folds his arms.

“Some,” Jaskier yawns. “I was having a good time. Plus I needed to drown my sorrows that this fair lady has passed me by. Ah well, more material for songs I believe.”

“No singing, just get to the horses. We need to make haste.”

“Must we?”

“You get to sing your new song in Oxenfurt if we do...or we can sleep under the stars instead if you want to lounge,” you chip in.

“Now that is a most agreeable proposal. A much bigger audience,” Jaskier suddenly perks up. “I can see it now! Oh I will be the talk of the city! I must change at once!”  
He slams the door in his eagerness to get dressed and you just shake your head.

“He has a high opinion of himself, doesn't he?” you say dryly.

“Someone has to because I sure don't,” Geralt shepherds you downstairs to the inn and you both saddle the horses.

Not two minutes later, Jaskier is jogging to the hitching post, his tunic half done up and his lute clutched in his hand. Geralt just hoped he'd keep the singing to a minimum on the last leg of the journey.

**

Oxenfurt was approaching, it couldn't have been more than half an hour away.

You'd never been this far north before, only exploring the land to the south and you were quite excited to see the city. Maybe it wouldn't live up to your high hopes but it was a change of scenery at least.

Plus it would get you away from Jaskier if you left him in a tavern somewhere.

The bard's enthusiasm had gotten grating on the long ride. You found yourself mirroring Geralt's rolling eyes and loud huffs but only because you became the subject of yet another song.

Jaskier had been working out the finer nuances of the rhyme and it was rather self pitying.

“ _-But as you can see, it was just not meant to be, for who'd have a bard when he's just a trainee. And sadly even then, he'd be passed up again, when faced with a Witcher, it's sword over pen. Such a wild, blooming romance, but not for dear Jaskier....oh no, not dear Jaskier. No love in her glance but for the hero of Rivia, the hero of Rivia-”_

“KNOCK IT OFF!” Geralt loses his temper, causing Jaskier's horse to whinny in fright and jump up slightly.

“I'm creating art!” Jaskier protests.

“You're creating a headache,” comes the growling reply. “Keep your mouth shut until you get to the tavern.”

“You know, you're quite horrible to me,” Jaskier stows his lute over his back.

“So leave.”

The bard just falls silent and Geralt scoffs.

“Didn't think so,” he shakes his head.

The Witcher spurs his horse to trot by yours and leans over, lowering his voice, “Still think it was a good idea to let him think we were intimate?”

“I thought it was at the time. I didn't realise he'd take it so badly.”

“I don't think he is, he's just hoping you'll take pity on him,” Geralt glances over his shoulder at the sulking bard. “When we get into Oxenfurt, don't go off on your own. I'm not being dismissive, I know you can fight. I've just known some evil things that lurk in the underbelly of the city and I need your help.”

At least he was trying to be less clumsy about his protectiveness. You appreciated the effort.

“Alright then.”

Once you crossed through the south gate into the city, the change in the noise level was deafening. It was louder than anything you were used to. So many people, so much activity, people shouting their wares, people dancing in the streets, people fighting, people.....

You looked away from the couple who thought they were hidden in the alley well enough to drop their trousers and skirts.

“You okay?” Geralt nudges you. “It's different from the towns, isn't it?”

“I'm fine. Just taking it in. I'm so used to looking for small sounds that this...it's overwhelming.”

Geralt makes a noise of understanding before directing the horses to a stable by a tavern.

“Jaskier, go do whatever it is you do. I need to scout for contracts or monster rumours,” Geralt dismisses.

“I shall be earning our supper then,” Jaskier gives a flamboyant bow before going inside the inn and you're assaulted by the hoppy smell of ale as the door wafts open.

“You're welcome to settle into a room or you can come with me,” Geralt addresses you.

“I'm coming with you.”

“Fine.”

He heads to the city's notice board and you're matching him step for step. You won't let him stride away from you or follow behind like some dutiful wife. Once you're there, you scan the papers pinned there, searching for any plea for help.

“Anything?” Geralt's taken the right hand side.

“Nothing, you?”

“Nothing. Fuck. This must be the first time I've come here with nothing going on.”

“Can we last on the coin we have?”

“For a while but something needs to happen soon,” Geralt turns his yellow eyes to you, reflected a golden orange in the light of the setting sun. “Let's take the long way back. We might hear something.”

As you were concentrating on the people around you, you were noticing that they shrank back from Geralt as he passed. They actively got out of his way or changed their path like he was some unlucky black cat.

He didn't seem to be bothered much, simply walking and turning his head from side to side occasionally to hear conversations better.

When you reached the tavern again, he sighed heavily, leaning against the wall. You could tell he was incredibly disappointed but his face gave nothing away.

“We'll have to try again tomorrow,” he looks up at the sky. “I'm too tired to walk around all night. It took longer than I expected to make it here.”

You were exhausted yourself, to tell the truth. You ached from the saddle, your thighs bruised and your back twinging when you moved too quickly.

You closed your eyes, stretching your arms behind your back until you felt the crack of your weary bones and when you let your arms drop, different arms were on you, fingers digging into the sore spots on your spine.

“What are you doing?” you say in surprise.

“You may have experience on the road but you sit very poorly on your horse. You shouldn't hunch over so much.”

“The way I ride is perfectly fine.”

“Do you think I'm fucking stupid? That I can't see you're in pain?”

“We've been riding for a long time, Geralt. Anyone would be in discomfort.”

“And then you wear your sword in a place that puts pressure on your lower back.”

“Are you chiding me now? Is that what is happening? I told you not to treat me like a child, I said-”

But he'd rearranged the scabbard and the belt so the pressure was spread across the whole of your stomach and the whole of your back. It felt like a great weight had been lifted and you automatically stood a little straighter.

“Is that better?” he asks and while you were expecting a smugness, there was an odd gentleness to his tone.

“Uh....yes, yes that's better.”

“You don't need to fight me on this. It's not an attack on your pride, I'm trying to help,” his fingers move back to massaging the aching vertebrae. “I know you must've learned everything you have on your own but it doesn't hurt to take on another's advice sometimes.”

“Is that what you are, my advisor?”

“What I am is your warden and I'll keep you hale and hearty no matter how you protest against it.”

You spin around in anger, “I never asked you to be my warden.”

“I never asked to _be_ your warden but I'm going to keep you as safe as I can without compromising your spirit. Is that fair?”

You huff and he seems faintly amused by the petulant action.

“I suppose, Witcher.”

“Geralt,” he corrects, with a smirk. “Just listen to me sometimes. I do have experience and I want you to be a better warrior. The better you are, the longer you'll survive bound to me.”

“Even Witchers aren't infallible.”

“Didn't say we were.”

“Just when I think I have you figured out....”

You'd thought Geralt was one of those caustic men who occasionally had a softer side. The more time you had spent with him though, the more this teasing tension had come to settle into the relationship you had. He had a wickedly sharp tongue when he wanted to. There was also something vulnerable swimming deep beneath the surface that you'd yet to drag to the fore.

“Nobody's figured me out yet. I'm complicated,” he folds his arms.

“Clearly.”

“Much like you are,” he tilts his head, surveying you. “I haven't gotten the measure of you yet either.”

“Perhaps you will someday....Witcher.”

He laughs at your deliberate refusal to say his name, “You're stubborn. Now come back, you're still stooping a little.”

Geralt seizes your arm, pulling you until he has one arm crooked around your waist and the other hand working out the knots. You don't know what to do. The care he's taking with you, the closeness of him. You'd lost the subtle power struggle right now but found you didn't mind it so much.

There's the briefest moment where you can feel his breath against the nape of your neck and know he's much closer than he should be but you still stood there. His fingers holding your waist, grip just a little harder, like he's testing the boundaries.

You might have just fully leaned back and surrendered into his care completely had a voice not broken the moment you were sharing.

“Witcher! Sir Witcher!”

It's a woman, a brothel mistress from the looks of her bawdy clothing, her breasts pushed high and proud by a girdle and her cheeks stained with rouge.

“What can I do for you?” Geralt lets go of you quickly.

“You _are_ a Witcher,” she seems relieved. “You must help me. Something is killing my girls. At first they disappeared from the streets and then they disappeared right in my establishment. I'm at my wits end, sir. Please help me.”

“Can you pay?”

“Of course, of course,” she shows a bag of money. “The last of our house takings. It's yours if you can stop whatever is taking my girls.”

“Lead the way,” Geralt nods before looking to you. “Sleep can wait. With me?”

“I'm with you,” you nod.

“Then let's go.”


	5. Silver and Steel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You investigate with Geralt into the disappearances in the brothel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Violence, injury, Angst, Infertility mentions
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> \- NB xx

You follow the brothel mistress back to the bawdy house before you're assaulted, not only with the moans and cries of sex but the smell of it too.

You try to give no discomfort away in your face. You didn't want Geralt to assume you were some delicate flower in a meadow. When you looked to him though, he seemed more exasperated than anything.

“Everything alright?” you ask.

“My ears are more sensitive than a normal human's,” he wrinkles his face in annoyance at a particularly loud scream of pleasure. “I wish they would be a bit quieter when deceiving their clients.”

“Deceiving their clients?” you laugh under your breath. “Spoken like a man with ego.”

“I'm not blind to their practices but nor do I look down upon them. I sometimes frequent them. A Witcher is a solitary profession,” his yellow eyes flash a little in offence. “Not everyone is as understanding of my condition as you are.”

“Sorry,” you mumble, a little ashamed you'd never considered that.

You reached a room where the mistress ushered you in and you saw the utter carnage that had taken place. The mattress was slashed, feathers spilling out onto the floor and some were stained with blood. The tables and chairs were smashed to splinters and the hangings of the bed were dangling in limp shreds from the frame. You could tell this had been an expensive room at one point.

“This is where Polina disappeared from. We have no idea where she went. Nobody saw her leave the building. Nobody knows who the creature was that took her either. They just...appeared and took her without anyone seeing. At first we thought our girls on the streets were just being kidnapped but after seeing this....I don't know what to believe Sir Witcher,” she sighs.

“I'll look for tracking clues. You can go back to your station for now,” Geralt nods graciously and she returns it before bustling out of the room.

He moves around the space, examining the debris, picking things up occasionally, sniffing other things sometimes and you watch his methodical investigation with raptured interest. It was no less fascinating than when he'd tracked the kikimora.

“It's not a creature or a monster,” he finally says, standing up.

“So what is it?”

“A ghost maybe?” he rubs his chin. “You can't enter or exit this house without going past the mistress and there's no windows in this rooms for obvious reasons. Running off with a body over your shoulder would definitely attract attention but nobody knows what happened.”

“Ghosts are real?!” you gape. “I just thought they were a story to keep me in line as a child.”

Geralt laughs, “I wish they were. Sometimes they're just sad spirits who're tied to a place by a violent or tragic death. Then you get your wraiths and your banshees and your barghests. The stories you were told were meant to keep you away from cemeteries and crypts so you wouldn't fall foul of them.”

“So what's one doing here?”

“I have no idea,” he shrugs. “This'll be difficult to hunt and it could be more dangerous than what you've faced already. You can go back to the tavern and Jaskier while I think of a plan.”

You just fold your arms and lean against the wall, “I'm not going anywhere, Witcher. Tell me how I can help.”

He heaves a great sigh, half displeased and half amused, “Still not using my name, huh? Would that the Law of Surprise gave me a less stubborn person to look after.”

“Well it hasn't, so get used to it.”

“Fine but I'm not sure how you can help just yet. We'll need to come back here tomorrow night and patrol the corridors. I'll need to get you a silver sword if you insist on being my shadow. That's the only thing that can hurt spirits.”

“Won't that use most of the money?”

“Yes,” he says bluntly, not sparing you the honest truth. “All of it, in fact. I don't say this to convince you to stay with Jaskier in safety, it's just the way of things.”

“I don't want us to lose all of our money,” you feel a little guilty.

He comes up to you, placing a hand on your shoulder, “If you're going to survive with me for a long time, I need to invest in the proper equipment for you. At this point I'm realising you're not going to do what you're told so I may as well train you to be as close to a Witcher as I can get you without going through the Trial of the Grasses.”

“Could I not go through the trial?”

You yelp when he grabs both of your shoulders and shakes you, looking furious, “No! Don't ever ask me that again!”

“What, why not?”

“Only three in ten ever survive and it's agony. It was the most painful experience of my life and I prayed for death for days whilst my body was ripped apart and renewed. You are _never_ going to undergo the trials, do you understand me? Even if you didn't die, you'd never be able to conceive ever again. If you had any hopes of becoming a mother, they would be gone. It is not a process to flippantly speak about.”

“I didn't realise,” you say quietly, looking at your feet.

His calloused palm moves up from your shoulder to your cheek as he holds it much more gently than you would've expected.

“I didn't mean to startle you. It's just a touchy subject. I still dream about those days where I hovered between life and death and I mourn the opportunity it took from me to have a family of my own,” he explains.

“I didn't mean to bring up your past pain, Geralt.”

“Well at least it got you using my name again,” he smirks. “So I will buy you a silver sword and I will show you how to hunt in my world but no more talk of the Trial of the Grasses.”

“Do you think I'm worth training?” the insecure question comes out when you don't mean it to.

His thumb strokes across your cheekbone, a much softer expression on his face, “I've come across some fierce women in my time and you are definitely among them. You have a strategic mind too and that's what you need for hunting monsters. I think you have great potential, you're just rough around the edges with formal training.”

He moves away before you can read too much into his more gentle manner. You would say he was embarrassed but he rarely showed big emotions like that.

“So I get the sword, we come back and patrol the corridors? Isn't that going to put some of these girls at risk if we can't get there in time?”

“That's the job.”

“No it's _not_ the job. What if I acted as bait?”

“What?” he blinks.

“You know, I dress as one of these girls, I stay in this room but keep the silver sword hidden in the bed. You're hidden outside and when I make a commotion you help me.”

The nice expression vanishes to be replaced by a harder one, “If you think I'm going to use you as bait you've got another thing coming.”

“You did it with the kikimura, why not now?”

“You didn't give me a choice then.”

“I'm not giving you a choice now, really.”

He looks like he wants to be angry but he just sighs and shakes his head, “You'll be the fucking death of me. Fine, stay here and let the mistress help you. I'll go buy the sword. If here's even a hint of trouble, I want you to go back to the tavern. You can't fight this without the right equipment. Swear to me.”

“I swear,” you give him a firm stare.

Geralt just gives you one last look through narrowed eyes before half storming out of the room, leaving you to get your plan ready.

**

Geralt ran his hand over the sword before picking it up. It was light for him but that'd mean it'd be perfect for you, a good balance between the blade and pommel.

He paid without hesitation, only retaining a few coins which would give you both a bed for the night if Jaskier hadn't sorted that situation out yet. He'd really have to come through on this job to be able to stay in Oxenfurt for any length of time.

He sure as hell wasn't going to ask Jaskier for a loan of his singing proceeds.

Moving quickly back to the brothel, he raced against the setting sun casting a golden glow on the cobblestones, picking out every shadow. He needed to get back before it went dark. Things got more dangerous with wraiths when it got dark.

Geralt stepped in the door and the mistress gave him a quick smile.

“She's in the same room,” she says. “We replaced the furniture and bed. She insisted.”

Of course you did. A girl in a torn up room would look suspicious if she was supposed to be waiting for customers. Very smart.

He just nods his head before approaching the door and when he walks in, he just stops in his tracks. He can't quite believe the sight in front of him.

You look very different without all the armour or even your loose and billowing night clothes. He'd never had any indication of what your body truly looked like but it was mostly displayed for anyone to see.

The mistress had put you in a bodice of brocade with bows on the straps. It's laced to push your breasts up, obscenely so and the undergarments weren't much more modest either. The paint on your face was a striking change also.

“Well don't stare,” you wrap your arms around yourself shyly. “Is it passable?”

“Uh,” he falters, his mouth dry before he coughs. “Yeah it's passable.”

“Are you sure?”

“If you sold yourself for coin, you'd be the most expensive girl in this place,” he blurts out before busying himself with setting the sword on the bed so he didn't have to see your reaction.

“Um, thank you, I guess,” you come near him, bending slightly to look at the blade and Geralt gets an eyeful of your cleavage.

He doesn't know why he backs away sharply when you get too close. Usually he wouldn't give much of a damn being near a woman in a state of undress, usually he had much more confidence in himself but around you it just vanished, just like it had done with Yennefer. He couldn't let you see his timidness though. You could walk all over him if you had the frame of mind to and maybe he'd let you but as his ward, it wasn't decent. He needed to pull himself together.

“What do you think?” he gestures to it.

You pick it up, twirling it in your hand and testing the weight of it. Your face splits into a wide grin after a few experimental slashes.

“This is wonderful, Geralt. Thank you,” you beam, your expression radiant. “No one's ever bought me anything before.”

He can't help but return the smile and there's another moment where your eyes lock with his and if he was going to make a move, now would be the time but he couldn't. You made a small movement, your arms jerking a little as if you were thinking of embracing him. If you did, Geralt wasn't sure he could keep a moral stance much longer.

“It looks good on you,” he says simply. “So you're not planning on sleeping at all until tonight?”

“Where could I sleep? I can't leave this room in case this apparition appears and if I sleep, I'm vulnerable.”

“Let me hide in the wardrobe, I don't need as much sleep as you do. I can watch over you,” he offers.

“You'd just watch me sleep?”

“You need rest. We rode all day and you're still slouching like you're aching. Go on. I won't take no for an answer.”

“Geralt, I-”

“-Just get in the bed,” he shakes his head before moving to the wardrobe.

Once he fits his frame in, he can spy out through the lattice in the top half and he watches you give him a glare before putting the sword under the pillow and getting under the sheets. He makes sure you're breathing soundly before he lets his senses go on alert.

Witchers had a useful trick of meditation whilst being completely awake and also aware of their surroundings. Geralt didn't like to use it often because it wasn't truly resting but in situations like this? At least he could keep an eye on you.

**

The first thing you wake up to seeing is a panel in the wall opening with a small creak. Within seconds something is leaping at you and you yell, scrambling to get the sword but the hooded figure punched you in the side of the face and you reeled back.

Geralt burst out of the wardrobe and was dragging the figure back, catching it with the end of his blade. There's a very human like cry and Geralt pulls the hood back to reveal an ordinary looking man.

“Who the fuck are you?” Geralt snarls.

The man just starts laughing before whistling and more men start pouring into the room through the hidden door. You join in the fray, fully aware you have no protection at all and kill the nearest guy who was distracted with the Witcher.

It devolves into carnage, two men attacking you whilst the other three go for Geralt and you have to rely on agility more than ever. There are moments where you feel the point of knives dragging along your bare stomach, leaving knicked little dots of blood in their wake where you'd dodged backwards.

You're finally left with one after pirouetting and slicing the other's throat open. The final man stabs forward in anger and you're distracted by not slipping in the blood pool. A groove is carved into your shoulder, severing the strap of the bodice. You howl in pain, feeling the wetness creep down your chest before the guy stiffens, the point of a sword pushing through his chest as he drops to the floor and Geralt is stood behind, his hair matted and his saffron eyes burning with adrenalin contrasting with the blood flecked on his face.

“Are you alright?” he looks at your shoulder.

“I'm fine. Go check there's no more in that hidden pathway before we leave,” you grimace, rotating it. “I'll wash up.”

He nods and you go to the basin, using a cloth to stem the flow. It hurts but the wound isn't deep. It doesn't take long before Geralt comes back.

“One at the end of the tunnel,” he confirms.

“So not ghosts then,” you turn around, keeping pressure on the cut.

“Not ghosts,” he looks with disdain at the bodies. “Just humans. Evil fucking humans.”

“Were they stealing girls? What for?”

“I've found it best not to delve too deeply sometimes into that,” he answers quietly. “I'll go talk to the mistress. You might want to...uh...redress.”

It's not until you look down that you realise you're nearly spilling out of the bodice on one side. You make no effort to cover yourself, you're too tired to care.

Geralt just coughs awkwardly before striding out again and you clean your body of blood and make up before pulling your armour out from the wardrobe and getting back in it. It stings when you lace the leather breastplate over your shoulder but you grit the pain. Eventually you move out to the main hallway and find Geralt speaking with the woman who seems horrified at the turn of events.

It surprises you greatly when she hits him across the face, “-And you let her fight them in just her small clothes?! What kind of warrior are you?!”

“One who knows I can take care of myself,” you interrupt before she can do any more damage because Geralt's cheek is already reddening.

“You should come work here,” she frowns at you. “You could make more money here than on the road in his company. We could pay you a security fee, you needn't sell yourself.”

“She is my ward by surprise,” Geralt growls in annoyance. “Where I go, she goes. Now pay up.”

“But there are bodies in there! What am I meant to do with them?!”

“Not my issue. I killed what was responsible for taking your girls. I'm not a maid.”

“Take your money then Witcher and look after her,” the mistress throws a bag of coins at him which he catches quickly before it hits him in the mouth.

You're too embarrassed to say anything as you scuttle out with Geralt and his strides are so long, so determined to get back quickly that you have to run to keep up. You could tell he was angry at having his integrity questioned and you could see the simmering rage beneath the surface in his tightly coiled shoulders.

When you reached the tavern, Jaskier was already drunk and had a girl strewn across his lap, giggling as he nuzzled her neck.

“Paid for the rooms?” Geralt asks.

“What?” Jaskier surfaces. “Oh! Oh hello! Where have you two been? Wait, is that blood?! Did I miss an adventure?!”

“We had a run in with some guys at the brothel after we thought it might be ghosts. Made some coin at least,” you talk for the Witcher because he still seems incredibly mad.

“I'm sorry?” Jaskier blinks, standing up in alarm and the girl tips off his lap with a squeak. “I'm sorry, you had an adventure in a brothel and _I wasn't invited?!”_

“You didn't need any more songs,” Geralt cuts him off. “Now are the rooms paid for? She's injured and needs to tend to it.”

“Yes,” he fishes in his pocket and draws out a key. “How did you get injured? I don't see any damage to your armour?”

“I...uh...I played bait...” you answer, not looking at him directly.

“What do you.....oh....OH!” Jaskier catches on. “Oh you're going to have to tell me the full story tomorrow because _that_ is too good not to immortalise in song! What a team you are! The Witcher and his Ward!”

Geralt snatches the key before half dragging you up the stairs and finding the room after jamming the key in a few doors. Once inside, he steers you to a chair before going to fill a bowl up and unpacking his satchel with potions inside.

“Take it off,” he says, nodding to your armour.

“I can do it myself-”

“-take it off,” he repeats, a little more gently. “I'm sure you _could_ do it yourself but having someone else do it means you might stand a chance of having no scars.”

“I don't care about a scar.”

“I'm sure you don't but _I_ do. You're my responsibility and you got injured. Let me take of it.”

“If it'll shut you up, Witcher,” you roll your eyes before undoing the clasps and buckles.

When you come to taking the breastplate off, however, you hiss as you have to rip it away from your skin, the blood having crusted and made a seal. Immediately it begins dripping down your chest again.

“Fuck,” you snarl before dropping the leather on the floor.

Geralt kneels in front of you, methodically cleaning before using the dry end of the cloth to apply the tincture. When it makes contact with your skin, you yelp as the stinging seems to penetrate down to the bone. You don't even realise you've leant forward, curled with the pain and are clutching Geralt's arm in a vice grip.

To his credit, he doesn't even care you're squeezing him hard and carries on until there's a horrible itching and the wound stitches back together until only a thin line remains, barely even raised. You let out the breath you'd been holding as he wipes your skin clear but don't let go, even when he's patting the area dry.

“It's all done now,” he looks at you before looking at the floor. “I'm sorry I couldn't get there quick enough.”

“Geralt, it happens. You keep saying how dangerous your life is.”

“Doesn't mean I want that life for you but I know I won't change your mind on it. You fought well today. I'm proud of you,” his gaze flicks up, a little warmer this time. “You took to that sword very well.”

“Time to give it a name I think,” you smile in return.

“Your swords have names?”

“Don't yours?”

“Well yeah but I thought only I did that,” he laughs before touching the hilt of the steel sword and silver sword in turn. “This one is Sihil, this one is Aerondight.”

“This is Haldeem,” you touch the scabbard of your steel sword. “And as for the silver....hmm....Seldain.”

“A good name for a good sword,” he nods his approval.

“Do we have enough to survive for a few nights here? I mean since you spent a lot of coin on me.”

“We have enough. If it take two contracts at a decent pay we have enough to stay here for a long while.”

“Geralt?” you're dwelling now, running over the past few hours in your mind. “What would they have done with me if they'd captured me?”

“I said you didn't want to know.”

“I do. Don't treat me like a child.”

He sighs heavily, “They were going to sell you. They were slave traders.”

“Oh.”

“Like I said, you probably didn't want to know.”

“Well I'm glad we stopped them then.”

“Even if they caught you, I'd stop at nothing to get you back,” he says fiercely before seeming to realise the gravity of what he's said and he hurriedly tidies his healing equipment away.

You just go behind the screen in the room, changing into your small clothes, utterly drained from both the fight and the interactions with the mercurial Witcher.

When you get into the bed though, there's a feeling of anxiousness. You'd already been attacked once whilst asleep and you didn't want to close your eyes.

“What's wrong?” Geralt asks as he strips into his small clothes too.

“I just....I'm still a little on edge.”

“You don't need to be. The door is locked and I'm here,” he starts making a nest on the floor to sleep on.

“Get in the bed,” you blurt out.

“What?” he stiffens, half bent over with blankets in his hand.

“Oh for fuck's sake, you heard. Don't make me repeat it.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want to wake up and see a figure in the room, because I'm a little scared, alright? The bed is big enough for two and I would feel better,” you scowl, feeling embarrassed. “Don't read into it.”

“It's alright to feel panicked,” he straightens up. “Don't be ashamed of it. I would be more surprised if you were completely composed. Now are you sure?”

“Yes because if I wake up and see a dark shape, I might kill you by accident.”

“That'd be one way to get out of the Law of Surprise,” he smirks. “But if you want me to, I will and I know it's not an invitation. Let me take the side closest to the door so you feel safer.”

You just nod, moving over as Geralt gets into the bed with you. It's wide enough that you're not touching him at all but you can feel the heat from his body. He blows out the candle and you're both plunged into darkness.

He's completely still, not moving at all and you find it endearing he's trying to let you fall asleep first. You turn over so your back is facing him before settling into the pillows and drifting off, safe in the knowledge that the Witcher would protect you no matter what.

**

Geralt lay there in the dark, listening to your steady breathing. Finally you were asleep.

He turned over, back facing to you and got ready to fall asleep himself when there was a warm pressure against him. You'd managed to press your back to his, possibly seeking some contact or heat, he didn't know. What he _did_ know is that he had no idea what to do.

He could move away sure but you might do it again without realising and there was only so much bed space. He could turn you over but that didn't feel right either.

Instead he just stayed where he was, guilty that he was enjoying the feel of you against him, guilty that this was the first intimate contact he'd had since Yennefer and even then he wasn't entirely sure whether she was as enamoured with him as he was with her at the time and most of all he felt guilty that he wanted more.

His childhood and his adult life had been barren of affection and what he longed for was the feel of you curled up on his chest, you who didn't care about his monstrous scarring or his freakish appearance. You who saw him for what he was.

Just another person.

But he couldn't have that, not only because you were his responsibility but because he couldn't give you a family, if by some miracle you wanted him too. He'd never hated being a Witcher more than in this moment.

The dawn was breaking through before his tortured thoughts finally ceased.


	6. Lilac and Gooseberries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another day, another search for coin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Some very spiteful words, angst
> 
> (Possible proof reading errors)
> 
> Happy reading!  
> \- NB xx

Geralt woke up first having barely slept.

It'd been hard to drift away when he was too afraid that he might show himself up whilst he was asleep, that he might end up curled around you with you recoiling away. His sleep had been in fits and starts and he desperately would love another few hours but he couldn't let Jaskier run amok unattended for that long.

It's only when he went to move out of the bed that he realised you were tucked up into the side of him. That's when he froze, torn between wanting to get away before you woke up and wanting not to disturb you when you looked so peaceful.

His cowardice won out and he gently pried you away but you started stirring and clutched him harder.

“Don't go,” you mumble. “Not yet.”

Did you know what you were asking? Were you aware you were clinging onto him or did you think he was someone else?

“You need to let go,” he says as softly as he can. “I can't take a leak if you don't let go.”

“Fine,” you grumble and turn over.

Geralt just slips out of the bed and goes to the washroom, breathing hard and splashing his face with cold water. He shouldn't read too much into it, even though he wanted to.

“Gooood morning,” Jaskier says from the hallway. “Pleasant night, was it? You look a little frustrated there, my friend.”

“I'm not your friend,” Geralt growls back, drying himself off. “What the fuck are you so happy about?”

“I have a promise tonight. A fair lady will be returning to hear me sing and she's quite heavily hinted she's game for my bed later.”

“Good, that means I don't have to babysit you. I can go look for contracts alone.”

“Alone? What about her?” Jaskier thumbs towards your room. “Trouble in paradise already? I can give you some pointers if you need them. You might be a little bit too brutish in your approach and ladies love slow seduction.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Geralt sighs.

“No. Now tell me about this adventure last night.”

**

You woke up with a start, feeling that something was off.

The bed felt too big, too cold and when you patted around, you remembered the Witcher had fallen asleep next to you. He must've already gotten up and left you to rest. You definitely needed it.

When you washed up and strapped on the clean armour, you headed downstairs where Jaskier was already composing the song of your brothel mishap. Geralt was sat across from him with a pitcher of ale and draining it like it was going to save him from the musical torture.

“ _-and so it came to be, dressed in finery, the Witcher's assistant was now_.....hmm it doesn't really explain the ludicrousness of the situation well,” Jaskier muses, taking a slice of cheese from his plate and eating it quickly.

“Plus I'm not his assistant,” you sit down, starting to eat from the other plates.

“Ward? Woman of surprise? Protégé? OH! PROTÉGÉ!” his eyes go wide as Geralt hides further in his tankard. “ _And now the state of play, the Witcher's protégé, agreed to be bait in her best lingerie_. That's it! That's perfect! Thank you for the inspiration, my dear lady. This may even be turned into theatre I feel. Didn't you act in a play once, Geralt?”

“I'm not talking about it,” Geralt closes the conversation down immediately before looking at you a little sheepishly. “Are you done eating? We should look at the notice boards again.”

“Yeah, I am,” you grab one last piece of bread. “Staying here, Jaskier?”

“He's entertaining company later,” Geralt raises a meaningful eyebrow and you understood.

“Not as radiant as yourself but if the White Wolf will secure all the best women,” Jaskier sighs overdramatically and you have to conceal your smile. “I shall see you later and don't miss my show this time. You're meant to be my companions and it's like you don't even support my career.”

“Funny that when you just tagged along in the first place,” Geralt replies acidly before steering you out of the tavern.

You get three steps towards the street before you feel a tug at your clothing and he's pulling you to a stand still.

“What is it?” you ask, trying to turn around but he holds you in place.

“What did I say about spreading the weight of your swords?” he's adjusting the straps and buckles. “Now you have two and it's doubly important not to overload your back. If you damage your posture, you won't fight as well. We've got a long day ahead of us potentially.”

When he finally lets you turn around, the bags under his eyes are more prevalent in the early sun. Did he sleep at all?

“Tired, Witcher?”

“When are you going to call me Geralt?” he pushes you in the small of the back so you start walking again.

“When I feel like it.”

“No wonder you didn't get married off.”

It could've been a harsh criticism but coming from him, it was playful. The more time you spent with him, the more you were picking up the subtle tones to his usually deadpan voice.

“You think I'd have the patience for a husband?” you laugh. “I want to see the world, not be a slave to a stove.”

“You weren't meant to be the husband of a farmer. A warrior maybe.”

“What a sight that would be. The warrior and his not quite a Witcher wife. Nobody would dare steal from that household.”

Geralt lets out a loud chuckle which always surprised you, “I don't imagine they would.”

“And what about you? What wife does a Witcher have?”

“One called Loneliness,” his grin falters a little. “Though sometimes we have a mistress called Social Pariah since that's what Witchers are.”

“Two at once? However do you keep up the stamina?”

“The Trial of the Grasses had some benefits,” he smirks.

“Geralt, about last night,” you venture, since he seems to be in a good mood, possibly even a flirtatious one. “Did I make you uncomfortable?”

“No,” he answers quickly, meeting your gaze. “No you didn't. I'm just not used to sleeping next to someone and not keeping my guard up.”

“Alright then. I just didn't want to-”

“-it's fine,” he cuts you off. “Don't overthink it. Now, let's see what the notice board has for us today.”

Nothing.

It had absolutely nothing today, same as yesterday.

“I don't like it being so quiet,” Geralt murmurs. “Feels like something's brewing. Maybe we should look at the outer towns beyond the gates.”

“Wherever we need to go, I'll go. Maybe you've just killed off so many monsters that it's become more peaceful.”

“No, there's always something,” he's scanning the horizon. “I can feel it in my gut. It's a sense of...there's some power here. There's power that wasn't here before. It's very strong.”

“I didn't know you held my magic in such high regard, Geralt,” comes a voice from behind you.

You turn around to see a beautiful woman with long dark hair and the most intensely violet eyes you've ever seen. She's wearing a long black dress with raven feathers as a collar.

“Yennefer,” the Witcher looked shocked. “What are you doing here?”

“Following you,” Yennefer replies. “I need to speak with you but I need to speak to you alone.”

“I'm not leaving her on her own in this shit heap of a city,” Geralt shakes his head. “You can say it in front of her.”

“You always did have a soft spot for damsels,” she rolls her eyes.

“I'm nobody's damsel, sorceress,” you reply, equally as catty. “I'll go back to the tavern, Geralt.”

“I don't want you out of my sight,” Geralt tries to stop you from leaving.

“I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself. I may even find a monster contract on the way back,” you slip out of his grasp and turn to walk away.

From behind you you hear an explosion of harried whispering between the two before Geralt runs and catches you by the waist, dragging you back.

“Hey!” you struggle.

“You're my ward. I'm not letting you wander off. You find enough trouble as it is.”

“Ward is it?” Yennefer looks you up and down with distaste. “And how did you come by this _ward_?”

“The Law of Surprise.”

“So not content with binding me to you via a djinn wish, you also bind another woman to you? Are you that desperate for companionship?” she seems furious.

“I don't know why you're getting upset with me, Yen,” Geralt folds his arms.

You really didn't want to be standing here and listening to this. It was obvious these two had a romantic history and it hadn't ended on the best terms.

“Upset? I'm not upset,” said Yennefer, clearly upset. “Why would I be upset? You're free to fraternise with whom you like, Geralt.”

“Then drop the hostile attitude.”

“I'm not hostile!”

You're trying to sneak away but Geralt's hand shoots out and grabs you to keep you in place.

“Yen, just tell me what you followed me for or go back. I'm not in the mood for this.”

“It's your school. Nilfgaard found it. They launched an attack.”

The Witcher becomes very still, all emotion wiping from his face, “Survivors?”

“I don't know. By the time I got there no one was left but I didn't find any bodies apart from Nilfgaardian soldiers. I just thought you'd want to know. They may be targeting Witchers and, far be it from me to care but you should keep an eye open for ambushes in the future.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly, dropping his hold on you. “I...I need to go back there. If Vesemir...”

Yennefer's expression softens, “I don't think Vesemir is dead. That man will outlast the both of us. I should return now. I will be missed. I just didn't want you dying in a ditch somewhere because you weren't prepared.”

Geralt just nods before taking a few steps back and gathering himself. Whoever this Vesemir person was, he must be very close to the Witcher.

“As for you,” Yennefer is suddenly a foot away and you catch the rolling scent of lilac and gooseberries. “Don't think he can love you. He will stay the same whilst you wither with age and he will never be able to give you children. Not that he'd want to anyway. We always find each other again eventually.”

“Doesn't look like he was that pleased to see you from where I stood,” you fire back, not appreciating her bitter tone. “And I'm bound to him as much as you are so I'm not going anywhere, Yennefer. You'll have to get used to it if you always find each other. Who said anything about love, anyway? I'm just his ward.”

“See that it stays that way,” she warns, her purple eyes darkening before she steps back and raises her voice a little louder. “You and I are not even comparable.”

“YEN!” Geralt barks and Yennefer flinches a little. “Enough! Have you not dropped enough poisoned words on her already? She is my responsibility and I won't have you acting like this. Find some maturity. I'm not sleeping with her and even if I was, you have no right to try and scare people away from me when _you_ were the one that walked away, that took other men into _your_ bed. Either be civil or get out of my sight. I appreciate you telling me about the school but that's where my tolerance ends if you're going to continue to be resentful.”

“Fine. Consider this the last favour I'll ever do you,” she whirls around, her dress flying out majestically as she sweeps away in a storm of rage.

“Can we go back to the tavern now?” you rub your arm awkwardly where the Witcher had gripped too hard.

“Yeah,” he starts walking with you. “Yeah. I'm sorry you got caught up in that but if I let you go back, she would've been that cold to you every time you'd meet in the future. I know her too well. She won't try to intimidate you again.”

“Rather fine taste in women you have there, Geralt.”

“I've never had particularly good taste in women. Most try to kill me and those that don't don't want to be around me for long.”

“Well at least she was pretty,” you shrug.

He laughs, “Somehow I keep finding beautiful women. Maybe I should've dressed you like a crone and she would've left you be.”

Geralt thought you were beautiful? He realises what he's said but he doesn't rectify it it and simply carries on walking.

“Are you alright?” he asks when you're nearing the tavern. “I know she's quite..intense.”

“I'm fine. Don't worry about me. You have bigger problems on your mind. How can I help?”

Geralt stops before the door, looking at you in astonishment.

“You want to...”

“Is it so hard to believe?”

“Why should you care about my troubles?”

“They're my troubles too now.”

You think he can see the determination on your face and maybe even the concern. You _were_ concerned for the Witcher because he was most definitely affected by Yennefer's news.

“Has anyone told you you're a really kind person?” Geralt looks up from the floor and if you didn't know better, you might say he was deeply touched but he couldn't possibly be from such a small offer of help. “I consider myself lucky the Law of Surprise gave me you. I could've gotten another person like Jaskier.”

“Jaskier's not all bad.”

“No he's not but I won't tell him that and you'd be wise not to do the same either,” he cracks a lopsided smile. “Thank you, I mean it. I'd really appreciate some help going back to Kaer Morhen.”

“Then you've got my help. We'll find your fellow Witchers, don't worry.”

Whatever possessed you to lean up and kiss him on the cheek, you didn't know but you didn't stick around to see his reaction. You bolted into the tavern to see Jaskier being assaulted by the landlord with a stale loaf of bread and rushed to his aid as quickly as you could.

**

You'd kissed him.

It wasn't a proper kiss but it was a kiss all the same. What genuine affection had Geralt ever had shown to him?

Perhaps you were as fond of him as he was of you. He'd like to think that was true.

Yennefer had seen through him straight away when she'd arrived. During that private moment where you were trying to get back to the tavern, she'd whispered that you'd never look at him twice because he couldn't give you a proper life, a family. You'd never want him like he wanted you.

He knew she was being spiteful but she'd voiced all of his own doubts and he couldn't help but wonder if they were _just_ doubts now. He'd heard some of the conversation you'd had with her, his hearing greatly enhanced from a normal human's and you'd given her some biting words back, almost _too_ defensive.

Were you both just dancing around each other or was he too hopeful?

As he watched you pull the landlord off of Jaskier and calm the situation down, he dared to imagine what a life with you might be like, what if he was that warrior husband you spoke of.

But it was just a fantasy. He had an infatuation is all and you didn't know each other too well yet. He was getting ahead of himself. Starvation of human affection was getting to him.

Besides, he had other things to worry about, namely if the School of the Wolf had been wiped out. If it had been, Nilfgaard would be in for a nasty surprise. Geralt was never merciful in his revenge.

“Are you coming in or just hanging around like an ornament?” you call to him and he breaks out of his daydreaming thoughts, laughing when you hit Jaskier with the stale bread for accidentally touching your rear as he stood up shakily.

“I'm coming in but we need to pack up and go soon. Jaskier, sorry but your lady friend will have to wait until we return.”

“It doesn't matter anyway,” Jaskier sighs despondently. “Apparently she's the landlord's daughter so I rather think leaving would be the best thing to do and quite quickly if I might add. There was distinct talk of a meat cleaver and my groin area.”

“I can't take you anywhere, can I?” Geralt shakes his head. “Come on, let's saddle up. It'll be at least a fortnight's ride to get to Kaer Morhen.”

Frankly he'd be glad to see the back of Oxenfurt.


End file.
